


Under the Night Sky

by Torrinidae



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Canonical Character Death, Dorian is a complex character, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Romantic Fluff, Sleepovers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 21:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4115497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torrinidae/pseuds/Torrinidae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian and Iron Bull would have the rest of the Inquisition know that their getting together was fueled by alcohol and kept together by great sex. However, the truth resists such simplicity and the men kept the whole truth an intimate secret under the night sky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Night Sky

The horn blew distantly outside, ringing in a shifting of feet as the guard changed at 3 AM. Dorian only barely registered the sounds as he lay in bed, his eyes fixated on an area of the ceiling. New planks of wood laid overtop some desiccated areas where the ceiling was once broken. Dorian remembered the day they found Skyhold, the battlements half destroyed and holes just about everywhere. It took a long while, but soon after Corypheus’ defeat, many warriors became helping hands, repairing the buildings, finally, he might add. It was a steady stream of money for many men immediately after the war. It meant that the hole in the roof was finally fixed today. Finally.

His mind wandered through these topics, how the ceiling finally got fixed, how the war had ended, and finally to how he first stumbled into this room with a broken ceiling.

He remembered very well, unfortunately, the night he drank a bit too much. He was hoping for blackout drunk after his best friend died. He missed Felix greatly, he still misses Felix; but he was too keenly aware of his problem to drink far more Ferelden Ale to black out. He remembered listening to Varric’s eloquently fudged story about the Champion of Kirkwall.

 

* * *

 

“And then she sent her Mabari after him!”

The men sitting at the table all exchanged a bout of laughter, sans Dorian, who was starting to feel sick to his stomach. The story was hilarious—sure —but he was starting to lose his own edge, his mental pain not being held at bay by the alcohol like he hoped it would. He set some coin down on the table as he stood. “It is time for me to retire,” he said slowly, his brain turning overtime to make every word sound sober.  
Varric patted his back, “Sure thing Sparkler, promise us we won’t find you retired in a bush outside the great hall in the morning.” Dorian grumbled as the other men of the inner circle chuckled. He could feel Iron Bull’s gaze on him as Blackwall and Cullen went back to their drinks. He ignored it and carefully moved his way to the door.

He hated the cold, but tonight felt different. The crisp, near-frozen air refreshed his breath as he exited the warm building. It helped him sober up some as he breathed out a puff of hot air. The cold distracted him from his problems. Dorian started to wander. He didn’t want to go back to a lonely bed; instead his feet lead him to a secluded area of the battlements. The stone path was dark and unfrequented, leaving him with the stars. Soon, the Tevinter mage found himself sitting, leaning against the stone merlon, his head tilted upward at the night sky. He was shivering, but it felt nice—he will never admit to such a blasphemous idea—as he mourned for the one person who ever called him a friend. Sure he now had the acquaintances of the inquisition, but as soon as Corypheus was dead, these companions would go back to ignoring him; this, he was sure of.

He vividly recalls how cold he was, but for how long he spent out there undisturbed, he does not. Perhaps the guards rotated once or twice, but the passage of time resumed when he heard large footsteps approach.

“Well this is a fine improvement over a bush. An unlikely spot, didn’t bet on it.”

Dorian’s eyes popped open as he shuddered forward. He turned toward the hulking qunari standing a short distance away.

There was a long pause before Dorian attempted to speak. A weak mumble came out before he cleared his throat and tried again. “What are you doing here?”  
“I should ask you the same, you are sitting right next to my door,” Bull responded before motioning to the door on the other side of Dorian. There was a much longer pause, the human mage unsure what to say, the qunari waited for something before he opened his mouth again. “Are you cold?” When the mage had not respond, Bull moved across the battlements to the previously-mentioned door. He turned his head. “If you’d like, you may come in.” With that the qunari ducked his horns into the doorway. With the door open, Bull went to the fireplace, throwing a few logs in and getting a small fire going.

Minutes passed as the mage turned his head back to the stars, wishing he had been left undisturbed. ‘I should head back to my room,’ he thought before shifting his weight. By the time he got up, which took a lot longer than he originally imagined, he felt the cold truly hit him. The color in his knuckles was faded, lips stiff, and his legs—despite being tightly wrapped in (what used to be warm) leather—had zero feeling. Dorian looked toward the other side of Skyhold. He could make out, through dim torch lights, the garden balcony: where his room was. He would surely collapsed by the time he made it to the great hall. He moved his hands to cross before his chest and wrap around his forearms. He was not sure which is colder, his arms or hands, but then again neither have much feeling, be it from cold or booze.

He had his decision, without battling over himself, as he walked through the doorway to the Iron Bull’s room. When he turned around to lock the door, he felt warm hands wrap a thick wool blanket around his shoulders.  He attempted to hide his red face with the blanket, pulling it closer around his body, as he turned around to face the kossith. He wanted to lie, but honesty came out. “I know I’m drunk, but you will regret trying to use me as a dog toy. I just need to warm up before I head to my room.”

“I have no intention of doing anything to you… I’m offering you a place to sleep for the night, nothing more.” Bull said. Dorian’s eyes went wide as the qunari, slowly and with great care, put his large hands on Dorian’s shoulders. The larger man carefully led him to the fireplace. The qunari had pulled out several blankets to create a makeshift cushion for the mage to sit on, a safe but warm distance from the fire.

When Dorian had gained back some feeling and warmth in his body, he noticed Bull had taken a seat nearby, and was pushing a kettle over the fire. Dorian felt he was melting back into himself, even if minimally. “So all those words, those times you openly discussed conquering me, lies for the sake of making Cadash laugh? You really are all bark and no bite?” Dorian rubbed himself into the wool blanket, feeling his shivering return. The wool smelled of a deep musk mixed with the scents of earth and leather. He would have made a comment, if sober, about how horrible it smelled, but it was pleasant, distracting, and grounding to the Tevinter mage.

“Oh those offers still stand, but I refuse to have sex with someone who is drunk. I would want you fully aware and conscious. It’s sexier that way, vint,” Bull threw a smirk Dorian’s way.

There was a long pause as Dorian processed what Bull had just told him; he didn’t have a comeback. Bull poured out some hot tea when the kettle began to whistle. “Usually you sulk into old books, but today you sulked into 10 tankards of beer. Do you… care to elaborate?” Bull set the cup in front of Dorian, offering it to him to help him warm up.

“I received a letter regarding Felix this morning,” Dorian started; he wanted to swallow his tongue, but continued with his eyes staring down the tea, as if it were about to freeze over any minute.

“That the sick kid of that crazy time vint?” Dorian nodded and continued.

“He went to the magisterium, stood on the senate floor and… told them of the inquisitor. A glowing testimonial… Everyone back home is talking,” he swallowed a hard lump torturing his throat, “Felix always was as good as his word.” Dorian bit back his tears as he picked up the cup of tea. It burned his hands, but he held it like a life line.

“Was?” Bull said, the word echoing in the men’s’ ears for a long time, the only other sound being the crackling of burning wood.

“He’s… Dead… The Blight caught up with him,” the mage ignored how weak the last two words came out—how weak he, himself, sounded in front of ‘the enemy.’

“Are you alright?” Bull said softly after Dorian pulled the cup of tea away from his face. Any other time, he would expect Dorian to lie, cover his grounds, hide emotions away; but the human’s response was surprising, and it seemed it surprised Dorian as well.

“No,” Dorian turned his head slowly to look at Bull. There were no tears on his face, but the kossith could see, from the light of the fire, how Dorian’s eyes were on the verge of overflowing. “Felix was a phenomenal man, he always put the good of others before himself.” This was the first time Bull had seen this side of Dorian. He could see behind the gloss of Dorian’s eyes, an honest, humbled man under all the bluster.

“I take it you were close,” the qunari inquired as he prodded the fire.

The mage put down the cup of tea and paused. “He was the only friend I ever had, the only one who ever referred to me as such. But I never abused his kindness, I couldn’t do such a thing to him.”

Bull paused and turned toward the vint, “Well, Varric likes to talk about how electric you are on the battlefield. Said you would make a pretty great hero for his next book,” He heard a throaty noise come from the mage, but Bull continued. He thought about who Dorian was, who everyone thought he was, and what people thought now. He needed to explain this to Dorian, this was important, and he needed to explain it now. “Cole has taken quite a liking to you; Cullen looks forward to his games of chess with you, and Vivienne has admitted she likes talking fashion and wine with you.  In fact, even Sera, _Sera_ ,” the Iron Bull emphasized, “admires you just as much as your heritage peeves her. Heck, I respect your fire and energy… Dorian, we are your friends, we like you. We thought you were the evil magister, yes, but we certainly don’t think that anymore.”

Those words had hit like a tsunami, a wave crashing down on the mage and taking him under.

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian remembers that night very well. After he had finished drenching the wool blanket into oblivion with kohl-stained tears, Bull had pulled the sheet from his own bed to pull around Dorian to keep him warm. The sobering experience had left both of them too awake to drift off, so the two grown men spent the rest of the night on the floor, talking and gazing up at the hole in the ceiling, discussing constellations. It made Dorian feel warm, welcomed, and happy. Though there was a perfectly good mattress over on the bed, Bull did not allow for both of them to sit on it together, only offering it to Dorian, alone, when he wanted to go to sleep. Back then, the mage fought such an absurd idea, but looking back he could see the reasoning: the Iron Bull had honored his own words about a drunken bed mate; he did not share a bed with anyone drunk, even if that was to share a bed platonically. Iron Bull respected a sober Dorian’s privacy, even when sober Dorian wasn’t there.

After that first ill-considered night after drinking, Dorian came back to Bull’s room as a sober choice. That was the day Bull showed him what he meant by conquering. Dorian’s “Cocky Tevinter Altus” image would have been ruined if anyone else had known the first night was a heartfelt sleepover; he quite liked that image of him, he looked just as good in it as he did rope. Bull also understood that Dorian appreciated the idea of discretion and privacy when it came to the full matters of their intimacy. Bull even loved the idea that there was a Dorian only for his eyes, which was why the qunari kept their soft kisses under the veil of night, and prodded Dorian like he always did in the mornings. They always had a back and forth going on the road, jabs at their cultures and hygiene, passing the time it took to travel down the mountains. Both the qunari and vint were always entertained by their exchanges and in-jokes. This new arrangement just meant the exchanges became raunchier. The vint’s responses to the talk of sex were always haughty yet playful, dares for future nights. Dorian would not let anyone get the idea that the men were just as gentle as they were _incredibly_ playful; this was far more exciting.

However, after every long night of ropes, blindfolds, candles, and oils, Bull and Dorian would lay on a clean blanket, talking about things that made them feel comfortable, and they would stare up at the twinkling stars. Sometimes these moments of aftercare were far more memorable and important than the sex.

But now. There was no more makeshift skylight. He had spent a good part of two years cursing that thing for stealing his warm and drenching part of the room when it rained, and now it was gone.  
Dorian felt a shifting of weight and heard the bed creek as the Bull moved. Dorian couldn’t bring himself to feign slumber. “Can’t sleep?” The deep, gruff voice ran through Dorian’s ears. He gave a noise of response. There was a pause before Bull rubbed his eyes. “It’s a shame there’s no windows in here either. Be nice if we had a nice large one looking over the mountainscape.”

Dorian snorted, “I’ve been pretending that we didn’t have a mutual domesticity, but now that you say ‘we’, I realize I don’t even know if my own room has a window.” The men shared a laugh, then Bull rose up onto an elbow to look down on Dorian. Dorian saw the look in the kossith’s eyes and frowned. “But I swear to Maker if you start discussing furniture arrangements, I will go over to that run-down box you call a dresser and set it on fire along with all your hideous pants.”  
  
“You’d do that just so you could see me naked all day.”

“How dare you flatter yourself instead of flattering me!”

The men laughed for a bit before Bull leaned down to kiss Dorian. Before Dorian could extend the kiss into something more, his partner removed himself from the bed. “Are you crazy? Get back here,” He let out, sitting up.

“Come with me,” Bull said with a smile. Dorian grumbled as he stumbled after Bull. They both slipped on clothes and shoes, and before Dorian could inquire anymore, Bull scooped up the mage.

  
“Fasta Vass! Put me down, you brute,” Dorian let out, shoving on the larger man’s chest. He only received a chuckle as he was carried like a bride out of the room. The qunari carried Dorian through the battlements, timing his movements just so he stayed out of the line of sight of the watch. The vint was still pushing against his chest, trying to accomplish something, Bull wasn’t sure what. Bull headed into a part of the battlements just above the garden, where a small tower rose from the stone. Once inside Dorian found he was carefully put down in pure darkness. Resolving not to injure himself by tripping over anything, he remained where he was and tapped his foot impatiently.

  
The kossith chuckled. “Give me a second and- ah there we go,” he pulled a string he was fumbling for and a curtain pulled open, revealing the moonlight behind a medium sized glassed-in window.  
Dorian scowled before looking around at the room. It was fairly small yet secluded. He looked up the ladder and down the stairs to find only storage areas.  He saw, laid out on the floor, a pile of blankets. The man turned to his partner with a raised eyebrow.

  
“What’s this all about?”

“It’s a tower with windows, in a much better location.”

Dorian paused.  He realized how much he talked about the atrocious location of Bull’s bedroom, how much everyone talked. It was right above the tavern. Of course no one liked it. Dorian could not sleep most of the time; Dorian bet, neither could the Bull.

Dorian looked around, uncertain of what was going on.

“And I talked to Cadash, a fireplace would be easy to install. No one uses this tower, and the room above the tavern could be used. As well as a room above the garden.”

“What?” Dorian was frozen. He mulled the words over, Bull letting him have his thoughts for several minutes. “I…” Dorian huffed. He got a bit flustered but he refused to let that make poor choices. “Really? A former Ben-Hassrath, asking to officially move into a new tower with a Tevinter Mage? Was hoping for a wedding first, at least an engagement ring. I may have even been pleased with a gold mask and a collar, would have upped the sex gam-“

“I…What?” The face etched into The Iron Bull’s features was priceless to the vint, who held his stomach as the laughter bubbled up from him. He swiftly moved over to the grey-skinned man, admiring the color in the light. He came up on his toes, hands moving to the Bull’s ears and horns.

“Festis bei umo canavarum,” he let out, pecking his lips softly to the Bull’s scarred ones. “You will be the death of me,” he repeated, staring lovingly into the one piercing eye of his lover. “Such a move might tip Varric off. Soon the whole Inquisition may know how much we are hopeless romantics. However, I guess my only option is to pray to Andraste that he doesn’t add that to the book.”

“Is… that a yes?” Bull looked down at the mage before him, hands softly wrapped around his hips.

“Mmm, it might. The fireplace better be huge. I’m freezing.” Dorian said, slipping out of the qunari’s grip to slide toward the makeshift bed. “Tonight. I’ll make due, I suppose.”

The room seemed to light up along with the Bull’s large grin. The two men nestled into the pile of blankets, heads propped up next to each other so they could stare out through the window together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a headcanon fueled mini-adventure through the relationship of Dorian and Iron Bull. I will fight to the bitter end that you cannot judge the actions of others behind closed doors by your perceived interpretations of conversation. My headcanon has always been that the inner circle likes to exaggerate and play-up their interactions with each other and their stories (looking at you, Varric); also, that the relationship between Dorian and Iron Bull was a bit more complex then 5 minutes of dialogue could ever let on. So how did the first ill-considered night of drinking happen? The world may never know, but for now, I hope you enjoyed this.


End file.
